


Blood Between Us

by citrusgum (ralyse)



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, post-s4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralyse/pseuds/citrusgum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is blood between us, love, my love. Carol, Daryl, Rick, Post-S4 finale. Caryl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: 29 Days Without an Accident

**Author's Note:**

> A quick note: I’m not writing the entire story in 2nd person, just this prologue. I know that tense can be off putting for some, so I wanted to clear that up right away. Second, this is technically my second attempt at TWD fic, the first falling dead in the water when another fic went in the same direction I was intending and doing it so beautifully that my muse capitulated. I am very committed to this, however. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> There's blood between us, love, my love,  
> There's father's blood, there's brother's blood,  
> And blood's a bar I cannot pass.  
> -Christina Georgina Rossetti, The Convent Threshold

_Prologue: 29 Days Without an Accident_

 

She smiles at you across your bounty and it’s there again: the sudden catch in your chest that squeezes everything like a fist. Not brutal and violent, but tender and strong and exactly like you imagine _her_ hands would be. She’s reached inside your chest and gripped your heart, massaging it every time you please her, every time she teases you. Slowly she’s working it into something and you can’t help the absurd thought that you hope its final shape aligns perfectly with her own.

 

This is what she does, turns you upside down and poetic and all you can do is clear your throat and mutter something about field dressing. She nods and surveys the kill and you feel puffed up by how pleased she is with it. You want to thump your chest and strut around and make sure everyone knows you’re a provider.

 

_Her_ provider.

 

A clap on your back breaks the spell of pride and machismo and Rick is there, telling you how well the deer meat will go with the peas he’s been growing. She smiles at him too, but you’ve catalogued every twitch of her lips and know the difference. The smiles she gives to you are different, special, just for you. Rick has his own smile too; she’s got them for so many people… But while her smile for Rick is just as warm, just as comforting, you can see the slight flag of worry behind it, the smallest hint that she isn’t entirely sure what to make of his transformation into a man of the earth.

 

You're not sure either, but that's the beauty of what you've built here. There's time, now. Time to let things play out, time to let Rick be a farmer for as long as he needs that. He's not Hershel, he won't ever be the man he's playing at... but it's who he needs to be right now. Not just for Carl, no matter what he might say. You know this is as much for him as it is for his son and who are you to fault him that?

 

Carol breaks you from your thoughts, musing about the best way to stretch the meat across dinner and breakfast tomorrow and Rick is there nodding, planning the menu with her like it's the most normal conversation they could have.

 

And maybe, in this world, it is.

 

You leave them, then. Leave them to their plans, your job was to provide the deer and you don't actually care what they do with it because you know whatever they decide, it will be delicious. Not that taste has really been much of a motivating factor in your life; food is food, especially now. But along with the slow massage to your heart, the new brother who doesn't tear you down at every turn, the respect in the eyes that fall on you... Along with all those changes, you've come to appreciate that, sometimes, there's a difference between food prepared by someone who's actually trying and food meant only to stave off hunger.

 

The hunger is still there, it's never going to leave, but the appreciation is new. It's settled slowly into your bones in this new life until, somewhere between telling Michonne you weren't going out there again and Hershel explaining why you were a natural choice for the council you came to the realization that this was home. This was family. This was everything you laid in your bed wishing for as a boy and it may have taken the end of the world to give it to you but you'd found peace. You'd found happiness.

 

You'd found love.

 

It made you uncomfortable to think of the word, but it was getting easier every day. With every smile, every slap on the back, every one of Glenn's stupid jokes... Every step you took was bringing you closer to an acceptance of something you never really thought you deserved.

 

Later, after dinner (delicious) you retreat to your cell because there's a limit to how much praise you can take without your flight instinct kicking in. It's still too much, sometimes, watching the smiles and the jokes and having people credit their full stomachs to you. Sometimes you need a little space to be with your thoughts and your bolts and the ghosts that don't define you anymore.

 

She comes by once people start settling in for the night, of course. You know it's something you take for granted, that she will seek you out at the end of her day. She always does, though. Always trails her hand along the bars of your cell before settling in for whatever the evening brings. Sometimes she talks, nonsense stories that you follow raptly despite the fact there's not really a point to them. Sometimes you talk, though that's not as common and nowhere near as rambling. Most times, though, she perches on the edge of your bunk with her mending or a book or whatever she's brought to do and you sit in silence together with your evening activities. Her presence is quiet and stable and enough to calm any nerves that sprang up during the day. She brings you that peace, that bookend to whatever horror the day wrought and you hope you do the same for her.

 

Tonight is a quiet night, she's got a battered book in her hands and you're sharpening knives. The scrape of metal against stone and the soft flick of pages are the only sounds for a while as she leans against your pillow and rests her feet on your hip. It's quiet and comfortable and you know you're inching towards something.

 

You want to touch her, kiss her, tell her to bring her stuff in and make the cell a home for you both and each day brings you a little closer to the courage for that. Each time she smiles and squeezes at your heart, you find the words a little closer to the tip of your tongue.

 

Any day now will be the right time. The certainty of that calms you and when she folds over her page, stretches her toes against your thigh before standing and announcing her intent to go to bed you see the gleam in her eye.

 

She knows, too.

 

Any day now


	2. Chapter One: Those Who Arrive

It should’ve been a happy moment, a joyful reunion with the family he’d thought lost forever. There should have been hugging and laughter and the kind of crying that didn’t cause pain. Instead, there’s darkness and fear and a heaviness to the air that chokes him more than their strange confines. He scans the assembled group, sagging with relief when he doesn’t find who he seeks and biting the inside of his cheek at how fucked up it is that not seeing her amongst the familiar faces is the better outcome.

  


Rick’s making proclamations and instead of the relief Daryl imagined he’d feel when his _brother_ stepped up again there’s only a mounting sense of hopelessness. He glances towards Michonne, but her attention is focused on Carl, an impenetrable expression on her face as she watches the young boy watch his father.

  


The beefy one, all mustache and bravado and bitten out words is giving Rick the rundown. They fell for the signs, fell for the welcome, and now they’re trapped. They don’t know why, they didn’t see anything. Rick relays their own story and the big one scowls, seeming to hold at least some degree of animosity towards Glenn over the fact they just walked right in.

  


Not that the recon Daryl’s group attempted did them any good.

  


  


“Do we know what they want with us?” Rick’s tone is all business, the wheels clearly turning in his head and Daryl wonders how he possibly sees their situation as anything other than hopeless. He’s never been the optimist. Things are shit and they will always be shit. Anything that isn’t shitty is just to lure you into complacency before it becomes extra shitty.

  


“They keep us fed,” Bob offers, as if that means there might be good intentions.

  


The beefy one nods, once and narrows his eyes at Rick, suspicious despite Glenn’s assurances. “Three meals a day,” he agrees. “We’ve been here four days and they haven’t broken that pattern.”

  


“They bring us all powdered milk and canned beans and tasteless bread,” Maggie elaborates, and Daryl looks down at his boots, unwilling to look at her lest she glance in his direction and immediately know he lost her sister.

  


“We refused it at first,” Glenn sounds weary, older than Daryl ever remembers him. “That seemed to piss them off, cause some violence. Eventually we had to give in, eat the food.”

  


“Haven’t poisoned us yet,” Sasha shrugs, bitterness clear in her features.

  


Rick nods, pensive, and Daryl is struck with the stupidest flashback and he’s transported back to Hershel’s farm and Rick pretending to listen to everyone’s input and wanting to make everyone feel part of every decision and his lip curls slightly.

  


“So, they herd people here. Lock them in train cars, but keep them fed. They’re not trying to get us to turn, or they wouldn’t care if we’re eating…”

  


“No, definitely not turning,” Bob says, rolling his shoulder. “I was hurt when we got here, they made sure to patch me up before I was tossed in here to join the others.”

  


“Me too,” one of the new faces, this time. A dirty slip of a girl who looks deeply uncomfortable but has a spark of _something_ behind the expression on her face. “My ankle was fucked up, they did a thorough job of inspecting it and wrapping it.” She nudges in front of Maggie, lifting her pant leg enough to display a somewhat clean tensor bandage wrapped around it.

  


Rick nods again, clearly thinking. Daryl doesn’t know what to make of any of it, doesn’t even have the start of an idea. Last night he was claiming a squirrel in the forest and lying to himself about his new group of men and in the last half a day he’d been beaten, watched his _brother_ savagely rip out a man’s jugular with his teeth to save his son, reunited with people he thought he’d never see again and walked right into a trap so obvious he isn’t sure how he missed it.

  


It’s a lie, he knows how. The same way Glenn and Maggie walked right in… They were all so worn down and defeated and desperate to reclaim what the fall of the prison had taken from them. They saw signs for a sanctuary and that word had obliterated any rational thought with dreams and promises.

  


They walked into a trap because they’re all stupid fuckers, now. Worn down and complacent and even after that madman walked up to their gates and ruined everything they still believed in safety.

  


It’s a fucking joke.

  


\--

  


“Getting close now,” Her voice hurts, the words coming out strangled and dry despite the sip of water she had before saying them and she winces at her own tone.

  


Tyreese just nods mutely, looking into the distance as they continue on their trek down the train tracks.

  


Carol sighs, shifting Judith on her hip and trying to count how long until the little girl will be sleepy enough to settle back into the pack on Tyreese’s back. In the days since they left the pecan grove behind, Carol’s found her hands shaking the longer she holds on to Judith. It isn’t fair, she knows that human contact is good for the young girl and she needs to do her part, can’t just leave Tyreese to tend to the infant at all times…

  


They exist silently now, only the most necessary words passing between them and Carol is strangely thankful for the big man’s lack of words. There’s nothing left for either of them to say, nothing they can do, now… They take turns with Judith, take turns on watch, take turns with their nightmares and the ghosts they share between them.

  


“Losing the sun, soon.” Tyreese says after a while, reaching over to take Judith from her arms and Carol tries to ignore the way the baby seems to snuggle into him. It’s all in her imagination, she knows, but she thinks Judith can tell… What she is. What she’s done. How she’s failed. “We should camp, do some recon tomorrow and decide what to do.”

  


Carol nods, looking into the tree line for a moment before they make their way off the tracks and set about finding somewhere to make their camp for the night. It’s unspoken now, that they can’t trust this promise of sanctuary. With the girls it had been easy to imagine a safe place, a new start where the train tracks converge. But that dream is as hopeless as the ones that had died in the pecan grove and Carol sets about stringing up their defenses while Tyreese feeds Judith.

  


They continue to Terminus because there isn’t another choice. The maybes and dreams are gone now, Carol not really believing they’ll find any of their friends, their family… Can she call them that, anymore? Just days ago she’d dreamed of returning Judith to Rick and plainly stating her case, pointing out that he didn’t get to decide her fate and that, despite the threat he believed she was to the safety of his children, here she was delivering his daughter unharmed.

  


She doesn’t think they’ll find any of their people at Terminus. Not anymore. It’s too neat, too easy, the dream of everyone converging again and forgiveness and acceptance and a new start. There’s no fairy tales like that, not in this world.

  


She takes the first watch, making a slow perimeter around their camp as Tyreese gets what fitful sleep he can and Judith curls happily against his chest. She isn’t sure where the little girl gets that temperament, Lori had never been as calm as her daughter and neither possible father was exactly known for his docile nature. Perhaps, she muses, this world has shaped Judith as much as it’s shaped the rest of them. Made her quieter, made her more careful… She doesn’t have the burden of a past where she was someone else, she only has this new order.

  


Only a few hours pass before Tyreese gives up on his battle against ghosts and she takes his place on the ground, using her pack as a pillow. Judith is a warm weight at her side, the little girl too sleepy to really care that her pillow has switched and her tiny hand curls into Carol’s scarf and she presses her eyes closed, choking back tears and willing herself into oblivion.

  


It doesn’t come.

  


Sleep does, because her body is too exhausted for it to be avoided, but there is no oblivion. Her ghosts dance around her, both new and old and the tears she squeezes from her eyes in her sleep are for so many lost little girls. She sees the rage in Tyreese’s shoulders, sees RIck’s hand on his gun and she thinks over and over that she deserves this, that they should do what the violence in their shoulders is threatening.

  


He’s there, then. Not Rick or Tyreese, but Daryl. He’s there in her dreams, brushing away the tears and telling her things will be okay. He’s got her, he trusts her, he needs her and that spectre of comfort and warmth and love is worse. It jolts her awake with a startled cry and Tyreese glances at her from across the camp.

  


Carol only shrugs, settling back against the pack and rubbing Judith’s back to calm her from their startled wakefulness.

  


She can handle the ghosts, can handle the little girls that surround her heart with failure. She can handle being used and tossed aside. It doesn’t matter, she’s lost worse…

  


She can’t handle Daryl in her dreams, not now.

  


It’s barely dawn when they pack up, Judith fed and changed and happily riding on Tyreese’s back. Through the forest they find the fences and cautiously approach.

  


“Seems quiet in there,” Tyreese speaks barely above a whisper.

  


“Very quiet,” she agrees with a frown. With signs everywhere and a central location she’d expected the place to be bustling… Memories of the prison at it’s height seize her chest and Carol pushes them aside to squint further into the compound, seeing nothing.

  


“What do you think?” She’s surprised at the question, not really thinking she deserves his deferral but a tiny gurgle from Judith reminds her that it isn’t _their_ safety she’s most concerned with.

  


“I don’t like it,” she says finally.

  


“No,” Tyreese agrees. She knows his knuckles are tight against his skin and they stand there silently, watching for any kind of sign, anything to tell them what to do.

  


She doesn’t want to be the one who makes the choice; doesn’t want Judith’s blood on her hands too, if she makes the wrong one. She’s so tired, weary to her bones and she just can’t find it in herself to trust her instincts. If they leave, Judith is in danger from walkers… If they approach, they could be in danger from something else entirely…

  


Silence and indecision drag between them as the sun rises higher.


End file.
